


Believe

by bgharison



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 07:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14612364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgharison/pseuds/bgharison
Summary: Revenge will be his god and he will have Hesse’s blood on his altar.Steve, losing and finding things to believe in.





	Believe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aries_taurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Life Is The Fire In Which We Burn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/581700) by [kristen999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristen999/pseuds/kristen999). 



> Inspired by a rambling tumblr meta, written as a birthday gift to [aries_taurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus) , timeline with permission from the amazing story written by [kristen999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristen999) .
> 
> There are hints of McDanno, but it can definitely be read as platonic.

Steve’s parents made something of an effort. Steve wonders, later, if it meant something to them -- going to church -- or if they just did it because that’s what good parents did. He wishes he had asked. But he remembers, they made an effort.

Steve’s dad was busier as he rose through the ranks of HPD, and crime didn’t take weekends off, and his mom, honestly, was with kids all week long and Saturday was busy with cooking and cleaning, and running Steve and Mary to practices so while she had good intentions, she was more likely to sleep in on Sunday morning than take the kids to church. They made it a dozen or so times a year, Steve pulling on his shirt collar and Mary fidgeting in her dress. 

Steve’s dad taught him to tie his ties, on those Sunday mornings that they did make it to church. With Steve’s exceptional fine motor skills and muscle memory, he caught on quickly, and it made his mom smile to see the kids dressed up. Half the time, she took pictures of them on the front porch steps -- before they left, she learned quickly, not after, because the minute the service was over, Steve always yanked his tie off and shoved it in his pocket. Mary was always barefoot by the time they got to the car.

Steve knew, though, that his parents were good people. Church or no, they were good people, dedicating their lives in the service of others. 

Spring 1992

Steve wears a tie to his mom’s funeral. He wonders why God let her die. 

After the funeral he makes sure Mary has something to eat, makes sure that she has plenty to drink. Football has taught him a thing or two about dehydration, and he’s worried. She’d cried all night, and that couldn’t be good, right? So he watches her closely, fixes her a glass of tea. When he hands it to her, she asks him why God let their mother die.

He doesn’t have an answer for her.

Some of the people milling around the house say that his mother is in a better place now. He guesses they mean heaven. One of them pats his cheek, clumsily, and says that he wouldn’t wish her back, if she was in heaven, now would he? So he will just have to be a brave boy and take care of his sister.

Steve thinks that he’d rather have his mom back, and that she could go to heaven later. Much later.

Then his dad separates them and sends them to the mainland.

So Steve loses his mom, his dad, and his sister, and he decides that God pretty much sucks, if he lets shit like that happen on his watch.

Summer 1994

The Naval Academy Chapel stands tall in the center of the campus. Steve walks past it almost daily, the dome and the stained glass sparkling in the sun or glowing warm in the cold, gray Maryland winters. He politely declines invitations to the services. He spends his Sundays doing more -- reading more, studying more, practicing more. A few professors encourage him, as an upperclassman, to ease off just a bit, before he burns out.

“Even God himself took a day to rest,” a chaplain says one day. Steve is running, sweat pouring off his face, as the chaplain walks from the service back to his house.

Steve thinks maybe God was resting when his mom got killed by a drunk driver.

“I’m just a mortal, though, sir,” he pants to the chaplain.

Spring 1999

Steve uses the drone to drop the explosives. He sees everything on a small screen, the colors distorted.

Thou shalt not murder rings in his ears when he wakes up tangled in the sheets that night. 

He thinks about it for a minute and decides that God didn’t play by the rules, now did he? He fills out the application to BUD/s.

Summer 2000

Steve knows he won’t be able to tell the story of the ink on his arms, because it’s too closely connected with this mission. Everything will be undisclosed; the location, the artist . . . they’d asked if he’d be willing to actually go through with it. The time spent in the chair on the other side of the wall from the target, the listening device tucked perfectly out of sight. All Steve had to do was sit still and not distort the transmission.

Steve asks random questions during lulls in the activity next door. It’s a good way to practice the language, anyway. Steve points to some of the art that captures his interest, and the artist explains the symbolism, most of which relates to the tenets of Buddhism. 

Some of that sounds pretty good to Steve, actually. The part where there wasn’t a God responsible for bad things, for example. The part about not drinking alcohol, not so much. Mostly, Steve lets it roll off him. He thinks about that drone, and those people on that little screen, and figures it’s already too late for him to consider a peaceful religion.

He already has blood on his hands, and that makes him guilty, right?

Winter 2001

Steve comes out alive on the other side of his first close firefight. The colors weren’t distorted and there was no screen.

Commander Sykes makes sure he understands that there are people he can talk to. Steve declines. Still, the next day, the base chaplain seeks him out. Steve suspects that Sykes dropped a dime on him. Figures he meant well, no harm, so Steve smiles and says thank you and politely declines spiritual aid. Some guys who want counseling but don’t want to ask for it will compromise by talking to a chaplain, like somehow one is an admission of weakness and the other isn’t. Steve’s noticed that the Catholic sailors and soldiers seem to find some sort of relief in confession. 

Steve finds relief in cleaning his M4. It feels better in his hand than rosary beads ever would.

Summer 2003

Dwayne dies in Steve’s arms, in the middle of a scorching hot, undisclosed location. By the time Steve carries him the five miles through enemy territory, his uniform is soaked with Dwayne’s blood.

He says all the right things to Dr. Frye and gets a scrip for sleeping pills. Once again, a base chaplain shows up, standing outside his barracks as he stalks back from the dispensary with a white bag clutched in his hand. This time Steve is less polite. He outranks the chaplain, anyway, and dismisses him. 

By now, Steve’s decided that maybe he did something to piss God off when he was a kid.

Summer 2007

Steve crawls across the border back into Afghanistan. He thinks about Mary, and his father. He wonders if maybe everyone was right, if his mom is in heaven, and if maybe he’ll get to see her now.

But his mom was a good person and Steve . . . he’s not sure. He’s served his country, served the Navy, but some of the things he’s done . . . he thinks about it, as his grip on consciousness slips away, and he’s pretty sure he’s not going to heaven.

He’d sure like to see his mom again, though.

He wakes up, somewhat to his surprise, and the damage is not that bad, all things considered. They offer to call his dad, his sister. He declines. No sense worrying them, now. They offer to call a chaplain.

Steve hesitates. Maybe he should . . . but then all hell is breaking loose, apparently there’s been an IED and they’ve got wounded coming in. Steve wants to know if he can give blood, cranes his neck to see how bad it is, if it’s any of the guys he knows. The nurse pats his shoulder and tells him to stand down.

Summer 2010

Freddie is a believer. He nags at Steve good-naturedly a few times, to go to services with him. Says that Steve will have no choice, when they go home to Freddie’s parents on leave. Mom will make him go. She’ll make him wear a tie, too, and pinch his cheeks. And after, there will be fried chicken and mashed potatoes . . . Steve thinks it sounds kind of nice, actually. He’ll go, if it means that much to the Harts.

Of course Freddie was going to marry Kelly, it’s just how things are done, in their circles, but he would have anyway, even if his family wasn’t religious. He adores Kelly, Steve knows that. He still thinks the ink is god-awful and suspects that Kelly is going to secretly hate it. But she’ll love the gesture, just like she loves Freddie. Everyone loves Freddie, he’s like a big light, just glowing at everyone.

And then Steve is flooring the jeep, pulling away, but not until he knows, beyond any doubt, that it’s over. Freddie is already gone, there’s absolutely nothing he can do. Freddie told him to complete the mission. Steve forces down a sob, forces himself to focus on getting out alive, getting their package out alive. It can’t be for nothing. 

He wishes God had taken him instead of Freddie. He really, seriously questions God’s judgment and good sense, because why would you let the father of that little baby die, instead of Steve? But God’s never played fair, has he?

Less than twenty-four hours later, he hears the gunshot halfway around the world, and his father is gone.

Steve thinks probably there is no God. There’s really no other way he can explain it. 

He flies back to Hawaii holding it together by pushing it all down, so far down. He’s locked it down just like he’s been trained to do. He’ll do this, he’ll get through this funeral.

It’s not like he hasn’t buried a parent before.

And then he’ll get back out there, he’ll track down the other Hesse brother.

Revenge will be his god and he will have Hesse’s blood on his alter. 

And then there’s this short, loud, blonde guy in his garage -- his dad’s garage -- pulling a gun on him and cocky, arrogant, saying he’ll call an ambulance. The guy’s name is Danny, of all things.  
Danny glows. He glows like Freddie, except even more literally, with that golden blonde hair and . . . it sets Steve back, the brightness of him. He finds himself agreeing to the governor’s proposal.

Being back on the island has reminded him of some things he’d forgotten. Or buried. The culture. Chin’s zen, the island traditions . . . the rich spirituality. Some of it reminds him of the days he spent gathering intel in -- classified, his brain snaps in annoyance. Sometimes Chin wraps his hand around the back of his neck and presses their foreheads together, and he remembers Mamo doing that, when they were little. That’s nice. That’s not so bad.

He settles into something of a rhythm with the team but he’s still seething, running on adrenaline and anger. He sits at the dining room table at night and cleans his M4.

He can still see the blood, he thinks, on floor.

Hesse goes down, eventually, and for a few days, Steve is completely unhinged. He doesn’t know what to do with all of the anger. He thought it would go away when Hesse was gone but it hasn’t.

Danny helps. Danny baits him and goads him and they bicker and bitch and Danny’s just fucking beaming at him, all lit up and golden. And he doesn’t get Danny sometimes, he just doesn’t. Danny gave Kono a St. Michael’s medal, okay, he was familiar with that. He grew up a cop’s son, he knew a lot of the guys wore those. But then Danny would throw out these words that Steve knows, from having heard them from a bunkmate at the academy, are Yiddish.

But Danny never mentions going to church on Sunday. Or temple on Saturday. The weekends he has Gracie, they spend the day on some sort of adventure or outing, which has somehow evolved into including Steve. And the Sunday nights after Danny takes the little girl back to her mother usually end with Danny sitting quietly at Steve’s, not bothering to hide how shitty it is to go home -- eventually -- to his empty apartment. Again. So Steve isn’t sure what to think of Danny.

Well, except that he knows as far as religion goes, Danny worships Grace. That part is simple.

Summer 2011

Steve’s side is throbbing, and he feels hot and cold all over, all at the same time. The prison shiv was probably filthy, not to mention the gas station men’s room. He sighs and remembers the antibiotic on the kitchen counter, hesitates while he looks longingly at his bed -- his own bed, not the narrow prison cot -- but decides the impending infection isn’t worth it.

He hears Danny as he goes down the stairs, can tell immediately from his tone of voice that he’s on the phone with Grace.

“Yeah, monkey, I’ll say bedtime prayers with you, of course,” Danny is murmuring. “Well of course it still counts if I’m on the phone.”

Steve feels like he’s intruding but he can’t bring himself to move. He stands, completely rooted to the spot as Danny’s soft voice washes over him.

Now I lay me down to sleep . . . 

He feels it like another blow to his aching gut, has a flash of his dad, once or twice, kneeling next to Mary’s bed. Never next to his. He’s still standing there when Danny slips out of the guest room.

“You okay?” Danny asks. “No, of course you’re not okay, how could you be okay? Come -- what do you need -- you coming down or going up? Let me help, babe. You’ve had a hell of a day.”

“What do you believe?” Steve blurts out.

Danny tilts his head at him. “I don’t know. Gracie wants to believe . . . something. You know? I don’t want to take that away from her.”

Steve nods. Good. That’s good. Gracie is pure, and innocent.

But that hasn’t ever mattered, has it? It wouldn’t keep her safe.

His face darkens, and Danny meets him halfway on the staircase, wraps strong hands around his biceps and steers him to the kitchen. They pass a family picture on the wall.

“I need to call Mary,” Steve says. “I want to talk to my sister.”

“I believe that’s a good idea,” Danny says.

Winter 2011

Escape and evade didn’t work out, and Steve can still smell his own burning flesh as he drifts in and out of consciousness in the back of the truck. He’s freezing cold, shaking with pain and exhaustion. He sees Jenna’s eyes, lifeless. 

This isn’t like crawling over the border into Afghanistan. There’s no radio for help. There’s no help to be had. He wonders if there’s any chance at all that he’ll see his parents. He’s not sure what to think about heaven and hell, but he’s pretty sure that if there is a hell, it involves a cattle prod. He lets himself drift away again.

There’s a shout, and then light, and Danny, fucking beautiful Danny, shouting for the others. He pulls it together for the helo flight, riding an adrenaline high. The longer cargo flight home is a different story. He passes out from pain and exhaustion, only to wake violently, shouting and thrashing.

Kono dodges his fist neatly and presses her cool hand against his cheek.

“Ho, brah, you’re with us,” she says.

“Finding you alive . . . relatively in one piece . . . it’s a miracle,” Chin says.

“I don’t believe in miracles,” Steve mumbles. A miracle would have saved Jenna. “I believe in my team.”

Danny glances over at the SEALs propped casually, dozing, in the back of the plane.

“In Five-O,” Steve says. “Those guys, too, but . . . you guys. You came for me. I can’t believe it.”

“You just said you believe in your team,” Danny says. “Of course we came for you, goof.” 

Danny stays with him that night, and from the size of the duffle he’s tossed on the sofa, plans to stay for several nights. Steve gives up trying to sleep upstairs, it’s impossible to get comfortable lying down and he’s too far away from the doors, too --

“Hey,” Danny says, pulling him back to the present. Danny’s voice is hoarse with fatigue and strain. “Settle. Lemme get your pillow and a blanket. I’ll be right back.”

Steve wills himself to relax. It helps when Danny checks the door. Again. They both know he’s doing it for Steve’s benefit and Steve gives Danny a wry grin. Danny responds by grinning at him, his face just lit up, like a kid in front of a Christmas tree.

“What?” Steve scoffs. “You’re happy, risking your life to come after my sorry ass?”

“I’m happy ‘cause we found your sorry ass and hauled it back here, where you belong,” Danny says. “And if checking a damn lock and handing you a damn pillow brings you one ounce of comfort, then yeah, I’m happy to do that.”

“I still can’t believe you guys . . .” Steve’s voice breaks. 

“Believe it,” Danny says. “Believe it, Steve.”

Late the next morning, Steve hobbles out onto the lanai, his arm wrapped around his ribs, aching, hunched over. He followed the smell of coffee and the low hum of voices. Kono is putting fresh flowers in a bowl and she looks up at him, smiles, incandescent. Chin presses a cup of tea into one hand, wraps his hand around Steve’s neck and presses their foreheads together. He whispers a blessing in Hawaiian. Steve nods, unable to speak. He glances around, looking for Danny, sees him standing a couple yards off, feet kicking gently in the sand, his phone to his ear.

“Yes, I promise, Monkey, I’ll tell him,” he says softly, before he pockets his phone.

“Gracie okay?” Steve asks, automatically, because he’s become attached to her, and that, it would seem, is enough to make her a target in this twisted universe.

“She’s -- are you kidding? She’s fine, yes, she’s fine. Wants to come over tomorrow, if that’s okay, and see you for herself,” Danny says. He hesitates, he’s gotten weird vibes from Steve before, but he promised Grace. “She . . . apparently, you’ve been a main feature in her bedtime prayers and she’s pretty pleased with the results. I think a pony is next on the agenda.”

Steve barks out a laugh, holds his ribs, but it’s worth it. Danny looks relieved, and Steve doesn’t like that, doesn’t want Danny to not talk about Grace . . . believing. In something.

“Come’ere, you goof,” Danny says, wrapping his arms around Steve, like he just can’t help it. 

And it’s like being hugged by a tiny ferocious sun, Danny is so warm and light . . .and Chin and Kono are smiling at them like the moon and stars, Chin cool and placid and Kono sparkling and glittering. Steve feels something warm uncurl inside his chest that hasn’t been there since that night his dad drove them to airport.

It feels like hope, and maybe even just a little bit like faith. 

He’s not sure what it is, but he believes in it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm learning my way around [tumblr ](https://bgharison.tumblr.com/) , come say hello!


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